F*cksock

This morning, I miraculously got the kids up and ready for school today with time to spare. I sat sipping my coffee on the couch until time to get the kids in the car, with Tiller, Rollie, and Brody (the dog) all sitting beside me. I checked my email while the kids read Rollie’s Encyclopedia of Immaturity, Vol. II. (Because Vol. I was not enough.)

I admit, I pretty much block everything out, especially before 8 a.m., but they were reading entries like, “How To Make a Fart Sound With Your Hands,” “How To Make a Fart Sound With Your Arm,” and “Frozen Underpants.”

And then I hear:

R: “How to make a fucksock.”

I choked on my coffee.

Me: “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

R: “How to make a fucksock.”

T: “What’s a fucksock?”

Me: “Give me that book.”

Rollie hands me the book. I look down at the page. The heading reads, “How to Make a Fauxhawk.”